


Winter is Here

by prettylittlepetticoats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Angst and Feels, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Jon Snow, BAMF Sansa Stark, Character Death, Eventual Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Heavy Angst, House Stark, House Stark Family Feels (ASoIaF), Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are Cousins, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Jon Snow, Magic, Minor Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Not Canon Compliant, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, Past Character Death, Plot Twists, Political Jon Snow, Romance, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, The War for the Dawn, Warg Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlepetticoats/pseuds/prettylittlepetticoats
Summary: He has been crowned King and yet the real fight is still to come, the storm approaches and they are not prepared. He says a prayer under the Weirwood and the Old Gods know they must step in, the pack must be reunited, the Starks must come together again to face the true enemy, death. {fix-it}
Comments: 59
Kudos: 183





	1. Pray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh. I am so, so beyond hype for this new wip! I know I should update my others but when an idea like this comes to a person it has to be written!
> 
> please let me know what you think, I'm so keen to get everyones thoughts on this. this one is going to have lots of twist, divert massively from canon and has one huuuugee twist that even I didn't see coming!
> 
> this is 70% books, 30% show. I am borrowing season 6 onward a little bit but then it is going it's own way, and all of the lore will be book canon. don't me I can't class it under both. also don't be mad at my grammar, sometimes it ain't perfect, thankfully I'm getting better and no don't worry sis I do not write my stories like I do my author notes (oh the horror). also chapters will usually be a bit longer (5-10k words), this is just an opener.

* * *

' _He's my King, from this day, until his last day!'_

' _The King in the North! The King in the North!'_

It felt like a dream.

Here were the Northern Lords, the most powerful men in their part of the country, and they were declaring for him, they were chanting for him, they were believing in _him_. They roared his name, thrust their swords into the air, Sansa sat by his side, a little delighted smile on her features. Davos gave him a nod; Tormund was grinning from ear to ear. The chanting threatened to deafen him.

 _King_.

He was a King.

The rest of the night went in something of a blur, there was lots of drinking, lots of shouting, lots of cheering, laughing, and eating. It didn't feel quite real, that this was for him, that he'd been crowned King.

He'd been a bastard, a recruit, a brother of the Night's Watch, a wildling, a traitor, the Lord Commander, a dead man, and now he was a King.

It didn't feel real, he imagined it wouldn't feel real for quite a while.

Part of him wanted to bring the festivities to a halt, to remind the Northern Lords that the Other's were still out there, that they still had wars to wage, that Cersei Lannister in the South would see them dead, that winter was coming and was coming _soon_. But as he watched the wildlings and Lords somehow finally getting on, as he watched the comradery and happiness, as he watched Sansa smiling properly, he couldn't break it up.

"Debating whether this is a good use of time?" As though she'd read his mind his sister teased him, grinning as she took a sip of her drink. He rolled his eyes but felt mildly surprised she could read him so well.

She was a little different now, he could see that, perhaps more than a little. She had become very, very good at reading people, at understanding them, picking them apart. It would have scared him a little if he weren't so impressed.

The Sansa Stark he had been raised next to had changed. He could still see a hint of her there, in her love of lemon cakes, in her smile, in the tiny bit of innocence that hadn't been crushed, but not much, not much at all.

"Littlefinger is going to be a problem" She followed with, and he couldn't help but tease her back.

"Now who's all business?" She rolled her eyes at that but laughed all the same, before he nodded, back to seriousness again. He could do that, and he noticed Sansa could now as well. Laugh one minute, then back to business the next. It was something they had in common now.

Necessary in the roles he had held in this world, and as he glanced at Sansa, a little furrow in her brow now he knew it had been necessary in the roles she had held as well.

Bastard, recruit, brother, wildling, traitor, leader, dead man, _King_.

Princess, traitor, captive, runaway, hostage, bastard, _Lady_.

Not so different.

"Aye, he'll be a problem, but we'll deal with him" He said, so sure, for with at least two Stark's together, and the wolf – the symbol of their house at his feet, he was sure they could do anything. Littlefinger may have helped them win the Battle, but they didn't owe the man anything. He would not wiggle his way in here.

"That we will" She agreed, and he found himself smiling, he and Sansa may never have considered themselves siblings before, but it was good to have family back now. He felt a little pang for his brothers at the Wall then, of Sam in Oldtown, but he knew he'd made the right decision, his watch had ended, and besides, he could do far more for Castle Black as King than he could Lord Commander.

"I might retire" Sansa said with a nod, and Jon nodded too, it was getting late, but the drinking had yet to die down, still Jon felt suddenly weary – it had been a long day, he didn't feel the need nor the desire to remain here getting drunk and paying for it the next day.

One benefit of King, he didn't have to be too polite.

"Me too" She nodded then, and he held out an arm for her, she took his, they nodded and made their way out, Sansa immediately launching into her plans to start building glass gardens for winter. He didn't catch Ser Davos's raised eyebrow as they exited the hall, nor how he now held himself a little differently. Not arrogance, not brashness.

No.

He held himself like a King.

* * *

The next morning and he made his way to his father's … no, _his_ solar for the first time. He shook his head at that, making his way through the corridors. Well, that was odd to think. He may have given Sansa the Lord's chambers, but he supposed the solar was his to use. He felt a mixture of apprehensive and oddly giddy at the idea.

Once he reached the door, he took a second to go inside, alongside the slight nervousness and excitement there was a good dollop of guilt as well.

_This is supposed to be Robb…_

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to push the door open. Robb was gone, as was his father. The Lords had crowned him, and he had placed Sansa as Lady of Winterfell, hell she was practically Queen by his side! Well not in _that_ way, but in the way he'd keep her counsel and she would rule by his side.

Yes, he felt he had done right by his family, at least he hoped he had, and he knew now he had to focus on the future.

The storm was coming, the worst storm, that was what he had to face, to prepare for. Sansa was on top of organising supplies and food, he needed to handle the other side of things; the battle itself.

He needed to look over reinforcements, the troops from each of the Northern houses, the wildlings, the Vale, and the few soldiers that had escaped from the Riverland's. He needed to determine how many men they had that could stand and fight, how many mounted horsemen, brawlers, swordsmen, archers.

He needed to know how many canons they had, how many horses, how much dragon glass and how to get more. He needed to know how well trained the men were and when they could get here.

He needed to know what they were working with, and what fight they could put up against the Others, against the storm.

Because he knew it was coming, the worst storm. The white raven would likely fly soon, winter is coming, and with that came the Others, came the storm, came death. Death was marching to meet them, and they had to stop it.

But an hour later, and his head was in his hands.

It was not looking good.

He had checked the numbers, the figures, _three times_. He had gone over the reports from squires, the reports from the smiths, the Lords, the generals, everyone. He had added the figures, triple checked them and gone back over them again and again. He had added up possibilities, had checked over predictions and ideas. It was not enough.

They simply did not have the numbers, not even close.

He knew what power the Others held, they had numbers in the tens of thousands, and they had any men they killed that would then rise with them. They had reanimated creatures, they had so many men, wights and giants and all manner of things. And then they had the Others themselves, the few that walked with the wights, screaming their garbled language, carrying swords of ice that would not break, moving with such precision and speed.

They had it all.

In comparison they did not have enough. The North had suffered in the War of Five Kings and the Bolton takeover. The land itself was okay, always harsh, and untamed it did not suffer too much under wars but the men? There weren't enough, not nearly enough. Too many injured, too many dead, not enough weapons, not enough food, not enough of anything.

They did not have enough, not nearly enough.

He sat, as he did not know what to do next. They needed more than this but where were they supposed to go to get it? The South? Any pleas would fall on deaf ears he was sure. Stannis? Dead and gone. The Dragon Queen? After what had happened to his Grandfather and Uncle, he would never trust a Targaryen. No, they had few options in reinforcements.

He was at a loss at what to do. With a heavy sigh he stood to his feet. The solar suddenly felt warm, stuffy, even as the cold raged outside. He felt the need to get outside, to get some air. He'd been working for hours; he needed some space.

With a nod to himself he strode out of the solar, cut through the castle. It was strange, seeing the servants be so deferential, seeing people nod their heads, bow and curtsey. It was odd to say the least, his head felt heavy, even though no crown sat atop it.

As he strode through the courtyard, it was too crowded for his liking. He spotted Sansa stood with the blacksmiths, in deep discussion as Lord Royce stood over her shoulder and Littlefinger lurked nearby. He was tempted to head over, but no, Sansa could handle herself and he still needed that space.

He continued on, and found the one place that was quiet here, that was empty.

The Godswood.

Even as a child he had found this to be a place of peace. He had never been devout, a believer yes but never a zealot. Here though he had always found it quiet and peaceful. He had come here often, just to be alone, to brood, to be in the silence.

Now, perhaps he believed some more, for he had risen from the dead, but which god had been responsible for that? Were there multiple gods? Which religion had got it right? He had no idea frankly, and yet he could never see himself following anyone but his father's gods.

When he had passed, in the time in between there had been nothing, no indication which God was true, not hint at what came next, simply _nothing_.

With a small sigh he approached the great Weirwood. It was truly a sight of beauty, a thing of power and strength. The red leaves were vibrant against the snow, the lake shimmered, a layer of ice coating it, the snow was mostly untouched with just his footprints behind him, he noticed a second set of smaller prints and smiled as Ghost trailed him, his faithful, silent companion, there was comfort in having him close.

He sat down at the base of the Weirwood, he didn't notice the cold, he hadn't much before and now he didn't notice it at all. He had planned to come here just to sit in the quiet, to gather his thoughts, get some fresh air and then head back to his planning, to the hopeless task ahead, but now sat at the base of the tree, the weeping face looking back at him he had no desire to leave, no desire to go back to disheartening figures and numbers.

No, instead, for the first time in a very, _very_ long time, he had the desire to pray.

And so, he dipped his head, and he prayed.

' _I need help, we can't win this, we can't hope to. I need help, I need … I need more than me'_

That was all he could think of because it was the truth, the simple but awful truth. He needed help. He knew he would help win this war, hell he'd lead it, but he wasn't enough. They didn't have the men; they didn't have the fighters. They needed _more_.

He kept his head bowed for several minutes. He didn't expect anything, not really but still felt a hint of disappointment as the air remained still, as the light snow continued to fall, as nothing changed, as no reinforcements came, as his prayer went unanswered.

Well, that was until the Weirwood began to _glow_.

Jon liked to think he was a tough man, he had seen and experienced so much he was not one to shock easily, and yet he found his eyes widening, and his heart quickening as the Weirwood began to glow, first a pale silver and then red. He wasn't ashamed to be shocked, tell him one man who wouldn't be near bowled over at such a view.

It was oddly beautiful, even as the snow around him flickered silver and then red, even as it almost looked like blood was falling from the Weirwood, even as the glow intensified. It was captivating, perhaps a little terrifying but mesmerizing all the same.

He stood to his feet and took several steps back, placed a hand on Ghost, and stood at a distance, his eyes locked on the tree. He wouldn't leave, he couldn't, but he had _no idea_ what was going on. But then, he supposed what man did know was far outweighed by what man didn't know. Still, he didn't feel as though he were in danger, he knew somehow there was no danger here, and so though he stood back he did not leave.

"I…" He had no words, for what could he say? Well, it seemed as a voice shook out from the tree that he need not say anything.

' _You must fight Jon Snow, you must lead, you must win the war against the Great Other. You must lead, you are a King!'_

The voice near rattled the walls of Winterfell and Jon had never felt so simultaneously terrified and confused at the same time. This was a voice speaking to him, if he hadn't been literally raised from the dead he might have thought it was a trick, but no, he believed it instantly, this was the Gods speaking to him. Perhaps he believed it because he had experienced so many unbelievable things, perhaps it was desperation and relief that his prayer had been answered.

Either way, he believed it.

Though what came next he didn't quite believe and wouldn't for a little while.

Shadows began to appear behind the Weirwood, faint at first and then stronger, much stronger, they were walking out of the glow, the glow that turned gold, shimmered, and sparkled. The shadows began to take shape then and Jon if he were a weaker man would have fainted, he near did when the voice sounded again.

' _The pack must be reunited; the pack must fight the oncoming storm. You Jon Snow will lead the pack! Fight Jon Snow'_

The shadows took shape, the faces became clear and Jon would have cried out had he not been completely lost for words and unable to speak.

Father.

Robb with Grey Wind by his side.

Rickon with Shaggydog.

Lady Catelyn.

Alive, _alive and well_. Eyes wide with surprise and confusion, looking down at themselves and then across at him. _Alive_.

Had he gone mad? Had he cracked? He turned to look at Ghost, and yet his direwolf was focused on his returned siblings. He still made no sound, but it looked like he had near whined out to his fallen brothers. Jon near did too.

' _Lead the pack Jon Snow, you will hear from us twice more, but not at your call, at ours. Twice more King Jon, twice more, lead your pack'_

The glow stopped then, the gold flickered away and then died all together. What was left in place were his family, the pack, not all of them, but some, returned. He could only infer those returned from the dead. His heart swelled as he registered this must mean Arya and Bran were very much alive somewhere, but for now he could barely focus on that, he could focus on nothing but seeing those who had returned.

 _Alive_.

"Jon?" Sansa. She stood behind him, he hadn't even noticed her approach, and yet tears were on her cheeks and she betrayed his shock, he could see she was shaking and as he looked down at his own hands he realised he was too. "What is this?"

"I don't know" He didn't, not at all, and yet as he looked back to Robb, to Father, to Rickon, even to Lady Catelyn, he did know, somehow.

He had asked the Old Gods for help, and help had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo thoughts?
> 
> please let me know if you enjoyed! loved, hated, mildly disliked, complete apathy? let me know either way (but pls be constructive!).
> 
> has anyone guessed the twist yet? I always ask because way back when on another account I uploaded my first chapter of a story all smug about my foreshadowing and planned twist and someone lit guessed it in the first few reviews!
> 
> anywho, subscribe for updates, comment to let me know thoughts/should I continue? and hopefully you enjoyed!


	2. Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin with how hype I am for this story, too hype! I have plotted out loads of it, have a bunch of twists and turns, a fair few deaths, a romance plot or two and lots of angst, fluff and drama! I am so excited to write this and bring it to you all and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!
> 
> also stop telling me how to write it I've already planned it all /s (but not really)
> 
> do enjoy, let me know if you did!
> 
> songrecs: all the things she said - tatu

* * *

Her knees buckle beneath her, she can only hear roaring in her ears, lights dance in front of her eyes and she feels she must have fainted, that someone must be shaking her awake. She feels hands on her shoulders, fingers brushing back the hair from her face, a concerned voice. Jon's voice, that she recognises.

She must have fainted, the ground is cold, her body trembles and as Jon pulls her to her feet she still feels dazed, and she tries to remember why.

But then she looks beyond Jon and near hits the ground again.

Father, Mother, Robb, Rickon, Shaggydog, Grey Wind, and then bounding out from behind the Weirwood, _Lady_.

It is the last one that breaks her, she can feel tears trickling down her cheeks, but her fainting has stopped, it all suddenly seems real, they are back. She has no idea how, no idea what is happening, but they are back.

And then her Mother is running to her, Robb has grabbed Jon, and her Father reaches for her too, placing one hand on Jon's shoulder as well. Rickon runs inbetween them, and Jon pulls him close.

Family, _reunited_. Only Bran and Arya are missing, and yet she must guess they are alive, _somewhere_. The entire Stark pack, once scattered and lost … whole again…well _almost_ whole.

"Jon" She manages to speak, because how can this be? He shakes his head as he hugs Rickon close, no one knows how this was done, the look of confusion and shock is mirrored on the face of every Stark, this is a miracle. She'd think a blessing from the gods if she hadn't stopped believing all of that a long time ago.

Perhaps she must start believing again, for what other explanation could there be?

She thinks of Jon's resurrection, and now of the Stark pack near whole again, is this the gods at play?

The look of shock is printed across all of her families faces. Mother and Father are embracing now, were they not together in whatever lay after death? Rickon was clinging to Jon, whilst Robb scooped her up and into his arms, though she was taller than him now.

How had this come to be? The dead returned to life? How?

"Jon" She speaks again, for Jon has become her anchor, her _King_. It speaks to her shock that her mind doesn't immediately turn to the politics of it all, as Littlefinger had trained her to do. She must be quite surprised not to be analysing the situation as comes naturally to her now.

And they do, politics is second nature to her now, cunning and craftiness. It is not where she thought she'd end up, more spymaster than Lady of the house, and yet she has a talent for the sneakiness that Littlefinger installed in her.

"I don't know" He repeats again, and looks back at the Stark clan, hell he even looks at her Mother in wonder. "But we need to get inside"

She nods, feels her head clear a little bit, they need to get inside and discuss this, figure out what has happened. The mist over her clears a little as Jon turns back to the entrance of the Godswood, "Follow me" She nods, they need to hurry indoors now, and she can see Jon has an urgency to him. She agrees.

Right now they need to figure out what is going on, then they can turn to their people, the people of the North and explain whatever this is, but for now they need to get inside, hide this, until they can determine what to do.

She follows Jon, her arm going to Rickon, he is catching up to her in height but she still pulls him close, as they hurry into the courtyard, heads down, Jon striding at the head of them. Thankfully they are ignored, except for Jon, the people bow and nod, as they do to their beloved King. Thankfully no one thinks to look too closely at Robb or Father, they keep their heads down, Jon diverts the attention, she smiles and they hurry to Jon's solar.

Because it is Jon's solar now, and a little creeping chill seems to hit her neck when the political ramifications do start to hit her.

Jon is the King, her King, the North chose him, the North _adore_ him. They will never set him aside, not even for her Father she thinks or Robb … and she knows as everyone hurries inside, as her Father looks shocked at the minor changes Jon has made, as her Mother seems a hint frosty, and Robb confused.

She knows now things will get complicated. It is good to be reunited, the Stark pack together again, whole as it should be, but that doesn't mean it won't be complicated.

She can love her family and be profoundly grateful to have them home, and yet still nervous about how this will shift the life they have just started building here. At least that's what she tells herself.

She hates herself a little for that – here is her family! The people she has missed so much, her parents who she adores, her brothers, and yet she has already started mulling the power dynamic and the political ramifications!

She glances across at Jon and she is slightly reassured that she can see him thinking the same. They are like that now. Whereas the rest of the Stark's had shunned political cunning, she has been moulded by Cersei, Olenna, Littlefinger, and Jon was Lord Commander of the Wall, a tactician. She is the cunning politician, but he is the leader, the tactician and cunning when needed … they are two figures the Stark's haven't seen before.

Father and Robb, sweet Robb put honour above all, and though she and Jon had put importance on honour, they had put the importance on victory, on winning, higher than _all_ else.

Well, no one can say it didn't work.

Things are about to get complicated, and she braces herself as everyone sits down, and she can see Robb hesitate, her Father thankfully just slides into a seat opposite the desk but she notices Robb going to step around the table, at that Jon goes to move out of their brothers way but she shakes her head at him, a small gesture, yet he nods and takes his seat, thankfully he listens to her.

He is one of the few who did from the start.

He takes his seat, she pulls up one next to him, and then her Father, Mother and Robb sit opposite, Rickon in the corner, entertaining the direwolfs.

It is strange, for her Father and Mother to be visitors in this solar, not in command of it. And yet even as she looks at Jon, a little nervous behind the desk, he looks as though he belongs to it, he owns it.

It could also be to do with the few changes he has made already. Longclaw stands propped against the desk instead of Ice, the desk is weighed down with Jon's papers and plans not her Father's, and the tapestry of the North remains on the wall, but next to it is one of the Wall and Beyond, one Jon had bought from Castle Black. Subtle changes, but then the biggest is Jon sat behind the desk, he wears no crown, but he is a King.

She is happy that their family is reunited, she smiles, for she is thankful, they are not the Lannister's, wishing family dead so not to contest power, but it is still something that needs to be discussed, there are still odd dynamics here, and decisions to be made.

Part of her wishes she could ignore that side of her, ignore the ruthless side that screams at her to determine the power balance, but alas she cannot, Kings Landing beat that into her and Littlefinger solidified it; she can't turn off that part of her brain, even when she wants to.

So, she gives Jon a nod, and he nods back. "So, we have much to talk about aye" He starts, his voice rough, Northern, as the people that love him, "But let's start with this, where have you all been during this time?"

A good question, and an easy way to talk, let those lost begin, she reaches over and gently squeezes Jon's hand before releasing him and turning back to her family, eyeing them shrewdly. God, she missed them, and yet she remains silent as she awaits their answer.

She has missed them, but that doesn't change where her allegiances lay now, to their people, and ultimately to Jon. She'll do anything to keep those people safe, above _all_ else.

* * *

He still can't quite believe it.

The air doesn't quite feel real, it feels cold on his skin and yet foreign like it doesn't belong in brushing his skin. The breath in his lungs feels a little forced, his eyes feel too new, brightness more prominent than it should be. It is nothing drastic, nothing crazy, but subtle things he probably wouldn't have noticed.

But he certainly notices now.

He died.

He knows that, he remembers it, he remembers the knife in his gut, the hissed words of Roose Bolton _'the Lannisters send their regards',_ the grief and sorrow at knowing those were his final moments, the pain at the look on his Mothers face as he fell.

He could almost feel the knife in his gut again, ghosts a hand over the spot but of course now there is no wound … it feels like there should be.

It all just feels a little bit off, a little bit here, a little bit there, and all together that makes him feel … _wrong_. He is happy to see his family again, to be reunited with his parents, his siblings (though the lack of Arya and Bran concern him, are they alive somewhere? Surely, they must be), but it feels strange. Perhaps it is because he was gone for however long, things are certainly different here, as odd as he feels that he can see. Things have certainly changed.

Wherever he was he doesn't remember it, he isn't up to speed, and so as he looks around the room, at the small changes, he knows he has missed a lot.

Jon for one doesn't look like Jon. Yes, his bastard brother is still there, but he is different now, no longer a shy, brooding outsider. He still broods (clearly), but he is stronger now, in charge, authoritative, he sits in the seat of the Starks, he has taken back Winterfell, he is the leader.

There is no crown on his head but even Robb can see, plain as day – Jon is a _King_.

He feels the slightest pang of jealousy but not much, being King had been the proudest moment of his life but also the hardest. The responsibility, the authority, the accountability, it had been too much for him, far too much. He looks across at Jon, at the look on his face, a heavy look that speaks of that responsibility he carries, and he knows Jon can carry it better.

When he had named Jon his Heir, way back when before life had fallen apart he had considered whether Jon would make a good King and hadn't been sure, but now as he looks at his brother, burdened by duty, he knows he must be a good King, it is just clear in his presence.

And then there is Sansa, looking almost like a Queen by his side. Beautiful, so beautiful, and he feels a deep pride as he looks across at his sister, but he also feels concerned. She looks older, but burdened too, though in a different way to Jon.

Whereas Jon looks like he carries the weight of the world, Sansa looks like she carries the weight of her experiences, and Robb could cry that his sister, his little sister has had to be burdened by what life has given her.

He can see in her eyes, she is harder, tougher, that little girl glow and naivety long, _long_ gone. He is both proud of that but also sad. He doesn't want his sister to have to have grown up too fast, but he can see as she looks at Jon, as her expression hardens, he can see that she has.

Part of him wonders how much of Jon's rule is down to Sansa, but then he looks at them both, for they are looking at one another (and they seem to be communicating without words), and he realises they both must have fought for this rule, and succeeded, clearly.

He remembers when Sansa called Jon 'half-brother' and turned her nose up at him, now she looks at him with a sort of admiration that honestly unnerves him a little.

He glances at his Father, who has an indeterminable look on his face, and his Mother who he can see is making the same conclusions he is, but is looking far, far unhappier about it.

That is going to be a problem.

"Well?" Sansa speaks then, and she even sounds older, hardened, the little softness to her voice is gone. What has happened to his dear sister to have hardened her so? He isn't sure he wants to know.

"I don't remember" He doesn't. The last thing he remembers is that knife to the gut and he flinches as he thinks of it, almost feels it, beyond that there is nothing, not even darkness. He feels as though he were stabbed yesterday, it is only something in his bones that tells him it has been longer.

"What do you mean?" Sansa asks but Jon shakes his head and she nods. There it is again, the two communicating without a word, just how close have they grown? He glances at his Mother again who is frowning now.

"Was there darkness? Nothingness?" Jon asks, his gruff voice having taken a harder Northern tilt to it, Robb feels less like a Northman sat in front of his brother, and that feels strange, to almost feel like a foreigner in his own country.

"No" His Father speaks then, and he looks confused, but still strong, but then Father has always been strong, "The last thing I remember, the last thought was when I knelt in front of the headsman's axe" He glances at Sansa then Robb can see, perhaps looking to see how she'll react, but she doesn't cry nor flinch, she just sits, stoic, hard.

What _has_ happened to her?

He glances at Jon then who is also sat, stoic looking, eyebrow raised. What has happened to him? Sitting across from him they are like two different people.

"Hmm" Jon sits back, and then looks at Sansa, who speaks next. Unnerving.

"Mother?" Sansa's voice softens just a hint, but not much, "What about you?"

"The same" His Mother's voice is harder, but she smiles at her daughter, softens, "The last thing I remember is the knife at my throat"

"How long ago was that?" Father looks a little nauseous, and Jon stands abruptly, striding towards the door, the room falls silent as Jon sticks his head out, and they can hear him speak kindly to the page just stationed down the corridor, to order whisky and wine, and then to dismiss himself.

He can practically see Mother twitch that Jon is in charge, and he notices Sansa's eyes grow harder. _Hmm_.

Jon comes back in then, sits himself down, "It's been a while" Is all he offers, and then he falls silent. They all do. "Much has happened" Silence again, it drags, Sansa glances at Jon, Jon nods, Sansa tilts her head. It is like a language, something only they know.

They are the only two that don't flinch when the page returns with a knock.

Sansa answers this time, and he notices she dresses different too, in dark colours, more like Mother. She also has Tully scales on her clothes, and she dresses only in black, like Jon, though he has added some grey. They look like true Starks; he could laugh at that. Sansa, who was so desperate to lose the Stark name, and Jon, never a Stark in name, they now run the Stark household, they are now the Starks of Winterfell.

Sansa takes the drinks from the page, dismisses him, and places them down on the desk. She reaches for wine, Jon whisky, he takes wine, as does his Mother, his Father takes whisky, and then he speaks.

"Tell us" His Father drinks half the glass, thankfully there is a fresh decanter on the tray, "Tell us what has happened" He seems more in control now, he wonders if because Father was gone for longer it took him longer to get used to it. He still feels odd, but is easing as time goes on, perhaps it is the same for Father, who seems more in command of himself now, more like the Eddard Stark they knew. "If you will"

Yet deferential to Jon now, he swears he sees his Mothers eye twitch, and Sansa shoots Jon another glance, honestly Robb thinks that will become infuriating.

"Aye" Jon nods then, drinks his own whisky and sits back, "What has happened" He mulls, and then finishes his whisky before he starts. "It is a long story" Sansa seems to crack a smile then, though it is hard.

Just what has happened?

* * *

How is he supposed to explain this?

Years of change, of chaos, of war, of pain? How is he supposed to explain the horrors he has faced; the horrors Sansa has faced? How can he possibly summarise just what they have endured over the years? He is tempted to reach for more whisky but no, he needs a clear head now, as he glances at Sansa, who offers a tiny nod, and then he begins.

"Well I was at the Wall when you all died" He winced then, he should mince his words, but he has become much more blunt as the years have went by, "But from my end, I stayed at the Wall, the dead marched on it, the Others, I was Lord Commander for a time, I let the wildlings through to the Gift before I was killed" He nods then, "So I can sympathise"

"I left the Wall then, but not before Sansa came to me, having convinced Littlefinger to support our cause" He was really resisting reaching for another drink then, and placed the glass down, any mention of Littlefinger makes him want to break something, especially with him still lurking around. "We took back Winterfell, killed the Boltons, I was named King" He drops his gaze then, before he felt Sansa's sharp kick to his shin, he managed not to flinch but does lift his gaze, for he knows that was what she was getting at.

"And then here you are" There, he feels he explained that as best he could, and he glances at Sansa who nods, and picks it up.

"For me, I fled the Lannisters after Joffrey was killed at his wedding, and no, I didn't kill him" She pauses just for a second, "Littlefinger helped me escape, took me to the Vale, I convinced him to go to Jon, to help take back Winterfell" She nods then, he knows she is missing a lot out, but he knows she must have a reason, "And here we are"

"Here we are" Catelyn speaks then, her tone hard, and he has to resist the urge to drop his gaze again. Lady Stark had never been kind, he has to remind himself she is not in charge in here, she has no power over him.

He is in charge. Gods that was odd before, but now? With his Father and brother sat across from the seat of power? It is downright strange.

Only Sansa looks like she is where she belongs, at the right hand of the leader, in charge, in control. Much has changed her, she sits in the seat of power comfortably now, she is strong, and he feels continually proud of her.

"Yes" Sansa speaks, takes a small sip of her wine but he knows she is not a fan of getting drunk, that was one of the things she didn't learn from Cersei; a fondness for drink, he knows she learnt much else. "Here we are, with Jon, who is our King"

"Aye" It is his Father who speaks then, "He is" He feels warm and smiles, smiles at his Father who just about offers one back, he is clearly rallying, whereas Robb still looks confused and slightly off.

"Is he now?" Catelyn speaks then and Jon actually has to stop himself rolling his eyes, he had expected this, but not quite so soon, barely an hour out of the grave and Lady Catelyn is challenging his position, it would almost be amusing if not so predictable.

"Yes Mother" Sansa speaks her voice hard and he feels a twinge of guilt, she loves her Mother but she is clearly taking his side here, he would interrupt and insist it is fine but he knows that would upset her more. "He is"

Just when he figured out what Sansa likes and dislikes, feels and doesn't feel he isn't sure, but he knows she has figured the same for him. It just happened.

"I am" He doesn't want to posture, but he knows this needs to be sorted now, "We'll have to find a way to tell the Northman of your return, they have seen magic, seen mysticism, they'll accept it"

"But they won't accept another King" Sansa finishes what he couldn't.

"And we wouldn't want them to" There, Robb speaks, both Father and Robb have made it clear and at that Lady Catelyn deflates a little, though she still looks unhappy, and Sansa manages to soften just a hint.

"Look, we're back together, as a family" She glances at Rickon who is napping in the corner now, still just a boy, "Bran and Arya must be out there somewhere, they'll come home or we will find them, and we'll be back together" She smiles at Jon then and he smiles back, they miss the look between Lord and Lady Stark then, "That is the most important thing, the family, the pack"

She glances at their Father then, _"The lone wolf dies…"_

"… _But the pack survives"_ He returns, and Sansa has a smile then, a small one but a smile.

"Aye" Jon nods, "The pack to defend Winterfell"

"The pack" Lord Stark speaks firmly.

"The pack" Robb nods then.

"Family" Lady Catelyn says, her tone clipped, but Jon ignores her tone and words.

 _The pack_ , that is the most important thing, the pack, back together, as the voice had said, as it had boomed just before they had been returned.

' _The pack must be reunited; the pack must fight the oncoming storm. You Jon Snow will lead the pack! Fight Jon Snow'_

The pack, reunited, soon whole, ready to fight. As Sansa had said that was the most important thing, that was what mattered.

The pack.

 _Always_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so thoughts?
> 
> RIGHT I am jumping in before the inevitable comments 'omg why is sansa so cold?, 'why is jon so stoic?' I said in the last chapter this is 70% book, 30% show - sansa has been shaped by some of the dangerous players in the game, she is a player now! she has learnt from cersei, littlefinger, olenna, margaery, she is a player, she is not the naive little girl, she is cold and tough and could probs beat littlefinger at his own game. jon? jon is more book jon, he has ambition, he is smart and tactical not just swinging a sword and refusing to be king (don't even with jons ending, I love kit but damn he was done dirty in the show), and he is more stoic. so pls don't be mad and yell at me for writing the characters this way, it is my story, my interpretation.
> 
> saying that I do sincerely hope you enjoyed! also no I won't be revealing pairings yet nor the inclusion of other main characters tho some will be introduced soon(ish).
> 
> pls do comment and let me know your thoughts, subscribe for alerts and see you soon!


	3. Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say the response to this fic has been awesomeee! please keep your comments coming in - I particularly love people speculating on planned twists/reveals, I love it!
> 
> do enjoy this chapter, a fair amount of introspection, necessary my friends, necessary.
> 
> subscribe to get updates and most importantly enjoy!
> 
> songrecs: mary magdalene - FKA twigs

"So, what comes next?"

An easy question, to ask, a difficult question to answer. What did come next?

He had prayed to the Weirwood, after hours sat at this table, looking over figures that didn't add up, troop numbers that only spoke of despair and supply lines that could supply so little. He had asked for a sign, for help, for anything, and here they were, this was what they had been given, but now they had to find a way to use it.

Because yes, he was elated to have the Stark's back (though mainly Robb, Rickon and his Father, perhaps 'elated' was too strong a word for Lady Catelyn, though it made him happy to see Sansa reunited with her Mother), but he truthfully didn't see how that helped their cause. His Father was a strong battle commander yes, and Robb too, but he didn't need commanders, he didn't need more tacticians, honestly he wasn't entirely sure what he needed, more men? More food? More time?

Aye, that was the crux of it, he needed more time.

But there was no time, not for any of it, and so with a sigh he knew he needed to use what the Old Gods had given them, for there had to be a reason for divine intervention for the usually aloof Gods to step in, he just needed to figure out how he could use it.

More figuring stuff out, more trying to add up things that didn't add up, god his head hurt just thinking about it and he reached again for his drink. He didn't drink much, but with four dead family members sat in front of him he felt today could be an exception, especially with the splitting pain in his head.

More to figure out, more to do … always more to do.

He found himself thankful, thankful for his family returned (even though he wasn't sure what the Old Gods were trying to tell him), thankful for what little time they had left, and thankful for Sansa.

Seeing her come out for him, clearly on the side he should remain King … it had warmed him. Usually he felt so cold (inside, the cold weather hadn't bothered him since he'd marched to the Wall and even less since he'd returned), but her words of confidence, the decisive way she had declared he was the King, it had made him bask in that warmth.

Because even facing down such impossible odds, facing such an uphill battle and a fight, he had to recognise one fact.

He did want to be King.

Once he had never thought himself ambitious, but then as he looked back on his childhood he realised in some ways he had been.

' _For Winterfell'_ Robb would scream as they ran at each other with wooden swords.

' _For Winterfell'_ He would roar back until Lady Catelyn yelled or Robb carelessly told him he was never to be Lord of Winterfell.

He had wanted to be. He remembered that, as a boy, the burning desire to be a Lord, to not be a bastard. He had surged with pride when named Lord Commander and being named King had been the honour of his life. He had never truly craved power, not in the way Littlefinger or Cersei Lannister did, but he liked leading, he liked being in charge, and he knew he was good at it.

' _We all enjoy what we're good at'_ He remembered Val had said that once before kicking him in the shins. Val, another casualty. _'We all enjoy what we're good at'_

He did, well at least one of the two things he had a talent for. He liked leading, being at the front as he led his men into battle, protected them, kept their faith. The bloodshed? Arguably his best talent, his skill with a sword? That wasn't such a source of pride.

A killer, how could he have pride in being that? He had killed many, he didn't find it difficult anymore, not mentally or physically, it was as simple as taking a pen to paper or walking through the courtyard. Easy, simple, a bad sign, no pride.

But in being King he could and did have pride. It was hard, and he could do without the politics, but he even had a talent for that (not quite on Sansa's level of course, but then she'd been tutored by some of the biggest political minds in Westeros. He could do it, he commanded the respect of his men and he wanted it, now perhaps more than ever, to ensure he protected his men with what was to come.

It felt slightly wrong now Robb and his Father were back, like perhaps he'd taken something away from them, robbed them (he knew Lady Catelyn would certainly feel that way), but Sansa had made her thoughts known on that with the furious glare she'd sent his way when he'd almost given up his chair at the table.

He had earned this; the Lords of the North had put their faith in him – what kind of man would he be if he didn't honour their trust? He may have sacrificed his own personal honour for victory in the past, but he still had his honour as a Stark, and his dedication to his duty.

_'Love is the death of duty'_

_'Duty is the death of love'_

He would do his duty.

"I think we rest" Eddard Stark spoke then, and Jon realised just how tired they all looked. He knew he looked the same, exhausted from the work that was ahead, but they looked worse. Perhaps coming back from the dead was draining, though he didn't remember that himself.

…

_Darkness, nothing, emptiness._

_And then a rush into his lungs, a gasp of air, a bright light, the howl of a wolf._

_Alive, well, wounds healed, pain gone. Alive._

_But not quite._

_Something different, colder, something changed, emptier._

_Alive ... but not whole._

…

"Of course, you must be tired" It was Sansa who spoke then and Jon nodded, shaking himself from his thoughts, thankful Sansa had slipped into her courtesies, that was an area he had never learned well, to her chagrin he knew, "Rickon your room is the same as before" Their little brother nodded, still too young to be involved in the main conversation and looking half asleep himself the direwolfs at his feet (though Ghost and Lady had trotted towards his desk, loyal).

"Mother, Father I currently occupy your room but the large guest room in the same corridor" Sansa said, and their Father and Lady Stark just nodded, Lady Stark still looked to be spoiling for a fight and he knew that would be an issue for the future but thankfully for the moment she had relented, she looked tired herself and perhaps sensed any fight now would be pointless.

"Robb, Jon is in your room, but the room next to him is free" Jon winced then, and he even saw a look flash over Robbs face but his brother just nodded and dropped it, no protest...not yet at least.

Still Jon knew, even though they had worked out the immediate issue of who would be King, there would be much working out of where everyone stood, everyone's place and a balance in the household. It would be delicate, and he glanced at Sansa who offered him a nod, she would help him navigate this.

He was better at politics than he had thought, but at the Wall it had been easier, simpler, less manoeuvring, less cunning, bluntness preferred, honesty the brand of politics more than scheming and lies (though he supposed in the end the opposite had proven true). Here it was a different game, one Sansa was adept at playing, and though he was good, better than most thought, he wasn't quite at her level.

"We'll walk you" Sansa said, and Jon nodded but she shook her head at him.

"Jon stay here, I'll come back" He nodded again, no doubt she had her reasons, and if there was one thing about Sansa it was that he trusted her implicitly, as he knew she trusted him in the same kind – they had proved themselves to one another again and again.

' _We have to trust each other'_

He saw the flicker of surprise then from both his Father and Lady Stark as he stayed put in his seat and just offered Sansa a nod of his head, but he chose to ignore that, he didn't need their opinions on his relationship with his sister right now. He did suppose it was odd for them, to see them so close when before they had barely treated one another like siblings, but right now he didn't need to hear it.

So much to do, so many figures, not enough time.

He smiled as Sansa brushed a hand over his shoulder as she made for the door, their family already waiting for her. He offered her a small smile and she one back to him.

"I'll be back" She offered, and he smiled again, another nod, though it was strained. He wished he could walk with her back to his room and crawl into bed, or perhaps curl up in a chair in front of the fire with Sansa in the one next to him (as they had done twice since returning to Winterfell just a fortnight or so earlier), but alas he knew he could not.

As the door swung shut, he let loose the sigh he felt he'd been holding for about an hour and closed his eyes, a nasty headache already working at his temples. So much to do, and though he appreciated the Old Gods were trying to help, what was their intention? He was happy to have his family back of course, but he couldn't see the tactical reasoning behind it.

He realised he sounded a little cold then, but this was who he was now, he had come back a little colder than before, he knew that, and he felt that perhaps family reunions, smiles, and laughter would be reserved for when … _if_ , they won this battle.

He was focused, too focused perhaps but he had to be. Who else would be? He had been fighting this war since he was a boy.

The War of the Dawn would not wait, would not pause for him to catch up with Robb or finally talk to his Father about his parentage now he had a chance. It wouldn't stop for Sansa to manoeuvre against Cersei or for Lady Catelyn to try and depose him. It would not stop for them to bring in the harvest that was too far out, it wouldn't pause for him to recruit the soldiers he needed.

It would not stop; they would not stop.

And so, neither could he.

And thus, with a small sigh he tipped his eyes back down to look over the figures. Tomorrow he'd go to the Weirwood tree, pray, perhaps try, and ascertain what the Gods were seeing when they had sent down the Stark family, but for now? For now, he had impossible figures, a lack of men and supplies and a war to contend with.

* * *

The walk had been nice, quiet, a hint awkward and then handing her family off to rooms had been uncomfortable.

She was in the role her Mother had once been, and a hint of her Fathers too. She was now the Lady of Winterfell, strutting around the castle in charge. She was the one who heard petitions, who talked with soldiers and nurses, who tried to organise grain storage and the building of glass gardens (a very busy 2 weeks, but then she had also held that role on the march to Winterfell). She had modelled a lot of her habits and ruling on her Mother and Fathers, hoping to emulate them now they were gone.

But now they were back, and guiding her Mother to a guest bedroom with a smile, and promising Robb, her older brother she'd have food sent up, and giving her Father a nod as he requested they meet again in the morning … it all felt horrifically awkward.

Still, feeling uncomfortable did not change her behaviour, and instead she offered her family smiles, even a quick hug before she was encouraging them to sleep. She ruffled Rickons hair, accepted a kiss from her Mother, hugged her Father and smiled at Robb before their doors were shutting and she was striding back to the solar.

Jon's solar.

She was pleased she had clearly stated Jon's place but she had seen the look he had given her and she knew he was right. Figuring out everyone's place, everyone's role, the delicate balance here at Winterfell … it would be difficult, and that was even before they'd reveal to the North that the Starks had returned (and ugh, just thinking about that gave her a headache). It would be hard, but she knew Jon would need her.

And Jon always needed her, that was what had made her put her faith in him so. He didn't dismiss her, didn't roll his eyes and discount her opinion. He listened, he considered her, he relied on her. Littlefinger had thought when they had first heard the sentiment that Jon would be named King that she would be resentful and jealous, and though yes she had stung a little with envy, she couldn't truly be upset, how could she truly be when Jon treated her like a Queen at his side?

She felt heat sting her cheeks then and shook that thought away before giving a passing servant a smile.

"Lady Sansa" The servant dipped her head.

"Maria isn't it?" The servant grinned, delighted to be known by name by her Lady, and as she went to walk away Sansa stopped her.

"Could you please have food taken up to the three empty rooms on this corridor? We are anticipating guests, but could you just drop it outside and knock on the door?" Sansa was relieved and pleased when Maria just nodded with a smile, no questions, just happy to do her job.

She remembered her Father had taught her how important it was to respect the household staff and she had found his lesson in that useful again and again, she hoped he'd approve.

She knew he wouldn't approve of how she was manipulating Littlefinger, lying through her teeth to him and manoeuvring to ensure Jon's position went unchallenged but eh, she was no doting, quiet Lady anymore.

She hadn't been for a while.

She continued on then, back to Jon's solar, they had much to discuss. She knew he was focused on the War of the Dawn (as he should be), and so she knew she'd need to take the lead in figuring out how to re-integrate her Father, Mother, Robb and Rickon. She'd be happy to, to play her part, to take some of the stress she could from Jon and she smiled to herself as she re-entered Jon's solar and he lifted his head and gave her a smile before turning back to his books, the chair at his desk open and waiting for her.

She would always stand by Jon, ensure his reign and her place by his side continued. And so, as Jon focused on troop movements and stationing for the next hour or so before lunch, she began to think creatively … how could they lie to ensure the North accepted the Stark family back without compromising Jon?

That was her priority.

Protect the North, protect her family, protect Jon.

' _I'll protect you I promise'_

' _And I'll protect you'_

She knew he would, she would, they would.

* * *

The road forked in two directions.

To the South … the rolling green hills, the lapping of the water of the Trident, the warm sun on her skin that now felt cold after Bravos. The scheming lions, snakes and vipers, the flimsy castles, the politics, the lies.

Cersei.

But then, to the North … snow, the cold crisp air that cleared the lungs, the shadowy trees of the Wolfswood, trout and wolves, bears and crows. The loyalty, the honesty, the bloodshed.

Family.

' _I heard that Jon Snow rammed his sword through twenty of Ramsey's men before he murdered the bastard himself'_

' _I heard that Sansa Stark marched by his side and laughed when Jon cut Ramsey down'_

' _I heard he swung his blade, the valyrian steel one? And half the army turned tail and ran'_

' _Red hair like a fox apparently, and she laughed Friar, she laughed!'_

She had barely believed it when she overheard the two traders, talking of a victory in the North, of Jon Snow, _Jon_ , fighting back the Boltons, Sansa proud by his side (that had made her mouth fall open and the tavern maid had made some quip about being stuck that way). Apparently, the Stark banner flew over Winterfell now, the running direwolf, proud once more.

South – Cersei, her list.

North – Jon, family.

Two directions, North and South, where did she belong now? No one didn't belong anywhere, they belonged in the shadows, in the background, hiding in the dark. Cat of the Canals belonged on the streets, on the steps begging for change, running fish and oysters. Ary belonged on the road, hiding from the other boys, laughing with Grendy.

Where did Arya Stark belong?

'Home' She had snarled at Jaquen Hagar and he had, had the audacity to laugh.

"Complete your list little one" He had dared her, "But then you come back" That wasn't a question, nor a request but a threat. She had near laughed, swung needle at his face and ran, but the look in his eye, the shadows on the walls, she had gulped down her fear and nodded instead.

The God of Death may give her a reprieve, to return home, to be Arya Stark a little longer but not forever, not for the rest of her days. No one was her future, Arya Stark was on a clock. The House of Black and White and the God of Death would have their dues.

But first, her list.

South – her list.

North – her family.

East – the House of Black and White waiting for her.

West – nothing at all.

' _He swung his blade'_

' _Red like a fox'_

' _Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei. Dunsen_ _,_ _Poliver, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Gregor and the Tickler. And the Hound, the Hound, the Hound'_

' _No one'_

' _Come back'_

List. Family. Death. Nothing.

With a deep breath she nudged her heels and patted the horse on the side, and then she felt the crisp breeze on the air, the rush of cold into her lungs and a small smile lit her face.

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo thoughts?
> 
> ahhhh! 6 starks accounted for, where is our 7th?
> 
> did you enjoy? I know there was a lot of 'thought' rather than action in this chapter but there has to be build up! this chapter was also a little shorter but the next section is proving larger and I wanted to get this out. did you like? love? hate? tell me! (but pls be a little nice).
> 
> in terms of timelines btw, jon/sansa have been back in Winterfell for about two-three weeks since the battle.
> 
> also pls remember this is 70% books, 30% show and so there is some stuff bought from show but a lot of book events take priority or show/book events have been adapted. does that make sense? hopefully!
> 
> do pls comment me your thoughts, subscribe for updates!
> 
> speak soon


	4. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ON A ROLL hmm, anywho, I do hope you enjoy! I am really feeling the asoiaf inspiration atm, so roll on other updates.
> 
> do let me know your thoughts, subscribe for updates and most importantly - enjoy!
> 
> songrecs: you should see me in a crown - billie eilish

"Jon"

Her voice was soft, a gentle kind of hum in his ear, a touch on his shoulder, gentle. He felt warm, but his eyes heavy, not enough sleep, and yet as he felt a little shake, his eyes peeling open, a yawn leaving his lips almost immediately, the light just creeping past the heavy curtains (though barely, _winter was here_ ), he knew that morning had come.

Sansa stood over him, a hot cup of tea in her hands which she passed to him before picking her own up from the table and settling down in the chair next to him. The fire still roared, Ghost sat at her feet (he rarely left Sansa's side now, only with Jon to hunt and fight), and the dawn had just begun to creep over the horizon, marking a new day.

He had fallen asleep in front of the fire in the Lords chambers, with Sansa doing the same on the chair next to him, something they had done several times before. Staying up late to talk, discuss, debate, eyes heavy, fire crackling before they would wake the next morning, tired, not enough sleep, an ache in his arm. A blanket had been slung over him in the night and he knew Sansa had likely gone to her bed but left him to slumber, he was thankful for sleep was rare now, as much as he ached.

This was a common occurrence for them, but this time it felt different, and as he allowed himself to wake up, took a sip of the hot drink that burnt his throat but certainly opened his eyes, he realised why it felt different as he looked over at Sansa, a report on the new glass gardens in her lap, sipping her own drink, oblivious to his concerns.

Falling asleep in the room of his young, maiden sister, both unmarried _could_ be construed as inappropriate, as she was a half-sister, they were too old for such things, neither married. Before he'd never been concerned about such things, neither had Sansa, but now? With Lord and Lady Stark (though he supposed he and Lady Sansa held those titles now, in a sense, _ugh_ , that made his headache, he was not a Stark … _you are to me_ ), alive and just next door, he felt uneasy.

"Jon stop worrying" Sansa scolded, for she didn't know what he was worrying about but could tell clear as day from his silence. He shot her a brooding glare in response to which she laughed, and he felt a smile touch at his lips. Perhaps he should take her advice, they had more important things to worry about after all, though he still felt that unease and knew tonight he'd need to sleep in his own bed.

The night before they'd stayed up late, Sansa raking through the food reports, he through troop reports. There hadn't been enough time or daylight to go through what they needed to, and so by candle light they'd worked, though they still had plenty to do, there was always plenty to do, always work and toil.

"We need to think what to do today" Sansa commented and he nodded, taking another sip, offering Ghost a scratch behind the ears as he drew closer, before settling down between him and Sansa, in front of the fire, the great direwolf nearing the size of a small pony now, but so at ease with them.

"Aye, more preparations to make" He said as he reached for the report he'd placed to one side. The numbers never added up, the figures would never be enough but that didn't halt the work, how could it? War approached.

"Yes" Sansa said with a nod before closing her report and turning to him, he in courtesy did the same, the figures already hurting his eyes and head, "But today we have to think on something else"

Jon raised an eyebrow then, "We have to prioritise the upcoming war Sansa" He said with a confused expression, only mollified as Sansa nodded.

"I know" She said, taking another sip, which he did the same, "But we need to figure out what to do about Mother, Father and Rickon"

Jon sighed then; she had the right of it. The War for the Dawn crept ever closer, and the Old Gods had responded by reviving half the Stark family. Jon still struggled to see what that meant and resolved to visit the Godswood later, right now (as glad as he was to have them back), it created more of a challenge than a solution, and he couldn't understand how it was supposed to help.

And, what were they supposed to tell the North?

"You are King" Sansa said, "That won't change"

"I'm not worried about that" He said immediately, he wasn't, he would always honour his duty, the faith the Northern Lords had placed in him, but right now that wasn't his biggest concern.

"Good, you shouldn't be, you have the Northern support, but you will need to tell them this, call it magic" Sansa said in reassurance, her belief in him always giving him faith, and Jon nodded.

"Honesty" Jon nodded, "Not the full truth, but most of it"

"I'll get Robb and Father to make sure they say they honour you as King" Jon winced then, he knew Lady Catelyn wouldn't like it, but he was no longer scared of her, not a boy anymore.

Part of him felt guilty, like he was taking something, _stealing_ it even, away from the rightful owners, taking something that wasn't his. His Father and brother were the rightful Lords, was he stealing it? Keeping it for himself when he shouldn't? He glanced at Sansa then who offered him a sympathetic smile, she always knew what he was thinking.

"You earned this" She whispered gently, and held her hand out to him, he didn't hesitate to take it. "Hardly any other Lord can say that. You weren't just born to it, you earned it, it is yours" He nodded then, though he didn't quite believe her, and he could see she knew that, but offered him _her_ belief all the same.

His perceptive sister, nothing got past her, not anymore.

"It doesn't feel like mine" He whispered back, knowing he'd never betray any of his fears to anyone but Sansa, here in this room, with the only other soul present being Ghost, silent, never to betray his secrets, just as he knew Sansa wouldn't.

"It is" She said, and smoothed a thumb over his knuckles, to which he squeezed her hand, "It is yours"

"And yours" Jon said back, for she may not be a Queen in name, but it was just as much her Kingdom as his, _Lady of Winterfell._

She smiled at that, and that warmed his heart, as he nodded his head, it was no good lamenting on his own feelings of insecurity, they had work to do. He could dwell on his feelings of inferiority that would always come from his birth, his status, but he couldn't, not now. There would be time to feel insecure when the war was won.

"When we announce this, we should follow up with announcing the placements I tend to make. The new rulers of the Dreadfort, Karhold and Moat Calin" Jon said, forgetting his own worries for a minute to turn back to tactics, something he shone at against all odds.

Sansa nodded, "And you won't change your mind on the Karstarks?"

"This will buy their loyalty forever" Jon said with a nod, "Ripping them out would only ensure an uprising later, this will ensure they remain loyal forever Sansa"

"You know I disagree" Sansa said with a sigh, "But I won't challenge you" And Jon nodded.

They made a good team he felt, they questioned one another, but never in public. They debated and argued but always ended the day with a smile and a commitment to ruling. They always put the North first, their land, their people. He listened to her and she to him, they ruled fairly and justly.

And would continue to do so.

He knew the Old Gods had sent back his family for a reason, a good reason no doubt, but as he felt that pang of guilt in his stomach as Sansa sat up to grab the options of regents of the Castles, he knew the reason couldn't be to give the North rulers, for they didn't lack that, not anymore.

* * *

She knew Jon was brooding, as he often did, so plagued by the insecurities of his childhood, of the stain _bastard_ (and she still felt the horrendous guilt that she had contributed to that, she could never forgive herself for that, even as Jon accepted her apology and offered reassurances - _I will make it up to him, now and forever_ ), he was no doubt feeling as though he'd taken the right to rule away.

But Jon was a good ruler, wise, kind, smart, strong. The people respected him, they adored him even, and she knew the presence of her Father and Robb wouldn't change that. She loved them both dearly, but Jon was the better ruler, she knew that, and she knew the people of the North did too.

And so, she didn't have the same concerns Jon did, as she stood with Littlefinger and Lord Royce, talking about food, armour and supplies. She didn't have the same insecurities as Lord Royce hung behind to discuss sword production and fletching with one of the workers, no, as Littlefinger walked beside her, she had other worries, many of them.

She had trained under the best, Cersei, Olenna, Littlefinger himself, but she was no fool, not arrogant enough to believe she could outwit Petyr Baelish. He was always about 5 steps ahead, and though she had the upper hand with his infatuation with her, it didn't offer much, _not enough._

And so, her worries weren't around Jon's position as King, she'd kill Littlefinger herself before she'd let him take over (and having never even struck with a dagger that certainly spoke of her devotion to Jon), no, she had two very specific worries of her own.

Littlefinger, and what he planned, and specifically how much trouble he'd be once her Mother returned.

Her place.

She knew she should focus more on the first, devote all of her energy and attention to bringing the spymaster down, but alas her mind kept drifting to the second.

She was certain Jon was secure, the Northern people loved him, saw him as an incarnation from the Gods when his tale of resurrection had spread. He had liberated their home, reunited them with their families, worked tirelessly to protect them and now would become even more popular by offering new Lordships and cementing old alliances.

Regardless of Robb and Father (the former who she imagined Jon would give a Lordship to, and the latter didn't even want to rule and would be a very useful advisor), she knew Jon would remain King, no matter what her Mother, Littlefinger or anyone else had to say about it.

_'The King in the North!'_

Jon was King.

But what about her?

At the moment she knew she was Queen in all but name. She sat at Jon's side, she performed all the functions of a Queen – visiting the smallfolk, overseeing operations, helping with the running of the Castle. She patted small children on the head, offered beleaguered farmers a sip of water and oversaw proceedings with Jon in the main room, she wore no crown, but she stood as a Queen.

She wore the Stark direwolf on her dress, exited the room with Jon, and counselled him, as he did to her. She was Queen in almost every sense of the title, and she against all her own assumptions _adored_ every second of it.

But how could it possibly last?

For now, it was fine, Jon needed her help, they showed a united front and the War for the Dawn made an easy distraction to the internal politics of Winterfell, but she knew that wouldn't last.

Already Lords dropped hints, their daughters had travelled to the Northern Capitol, and even Littlerfinger had made sly remarks that Jon would soon need to wed. Every time she heard those comments, every time a Lord shoved one of his pretty daughters forward (which she hated, she sympathised with Cersei on that one and only point, were they cattle?!), every time Littlefinger made a remark, or a Lord suggested it was time for Jon to marry she felt a fury burn deep in her heart.

If she looked closer she'd recognise it was perhaps more than just an upset at losing her current position, but she didn't look at that … not yet at least.

Still, she lamented on the idea, as Littlefinger walked beside her, silent but watching her, she thought of Jon, and his Queen.

Who would it be?

Perhaps Mira Forrester? She'd shown up at Winterfell oneday, with Asher her brother, asking permission to claim back Whitehall. They'd returned 2 days earlier, overjoyed that Asher was now Lord and Mira had plenty of thanks for Jon, for the men he'd sent to aid. She was pretty, close to Winterfell, and looked at Jon with a smile.

What about Wylla Manderly? Her hair that eye watering shade of green, and yet she wore it with such confidence it was charming rather than ugly. She laughed freely, carried a dagger at her hip and had even made Tormund spew ale in laughter one eve. She also eyed Jon with a mischievous little grin. With Little Walder long dead, and her eyes on a new betrothal, would she come for Jon?

There were so many other girls as well, Wylla's sister Wynafred, who was quieter, more reserved but no less pretty. What about the Mormont girls? Lyra and Jorelle who probably reminded Jon of Arya, fierce and outspoken, and both with eyes for Jon. And then there were so many others, Charlotte Cerwyn, Amary Dustin, girls from minor houses and large, and Jon to all of them was the greatest prize the North could offer.

She didn't want to lose her position, and as she thought of Jon, of her seat at the table, she thought over what she'd known for a little while now; she wanted to be Queen, and she wanted to keep on being Queen, long after the War.

"Everything okay Sansa?" Her thoughts were interrupted then by Petyr Baelish and she was sure he'd interrupted her thought stream intentionally to put her on the backfoot. Still, if anything she was thankful for his intrusion, as she put her thoughts on Jon, on being Queen and the legion of girls in Winterfell to take that position to one side.

"Quite alright Lord Baelish" Sansa responded, her face blank. That was an area she'd mastered, her face, voice, tone, body language never betraying _anything_. First her courtesies in Kings Landing and now just a blank expression kept her thoughts her own. "Just thinking on the food situation"

"Yes" Lord Baelish said, "Has Jon allowed you to go ahead with the glass gardens?"

She bristled at that, even though she knew what he was trying to do, and she hated herself for rising to it a little, still so much to learn … "Yes" She responded, for arguing with him would only give him what he wanted, though she caught his smile and she knew, he'd seen her tense, point to him. "Construction started this morning"

"Good" He nodded then and came to a pause, turning to her. Sansa took a breath as she turned to him. She had no trust for Lord Baelish, and found him slippery at best. Every conversation with him taxed her, it felt like wrestling with a snake, one that was as likely to bite her as bite her enemies, unpredictable, _dangerous_. "Sansa, I hope you know you are as important to running Winterfell as your half brother, maybe more"

"Thank you Lord Baelish" Was all she offered, a tight smile on her face, let him think he was sewing tension, let him think he was breaking up the Stark alliance, let him think whatever kept her in some semblance of control with him.

For she knew, and Jon knew, she'd die before she betrayed him, as she knew he would for her.

"Good" He nodded then, "Do you remember what I said to you in the Vale? About men?" He paused then, testing her, as he often had in the Eyrie. Once she'd failed often, now she kept her gaze on him as she spoke, she didn't fail now, hadn't for a long time and wouldn't again.

"Everyone wants something, and when you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him" Her tone had dropped to a whisper. She despised the man, but she had to acknowledge he had taught her much.

"Good" He said with a nod and offered her a smile, "Do not forget that" And then with a nod he was walking away and she felt the tension sag in her shoulders.

Like a snake.

* * *

"Father"

Jon stepped into the room, Lady Catelyn thankfully was asleep, Rickon next to her, but his Father at the desk in the guest room, entirely out of place here, he should be occupying his solar, at the head of things. Again Jon felt that pang of guilt, it wasn't easy to shrug off this time.

"Jon" It was easier when Lord Stark offered him a smile and pulled out a chair for him, nodded to it, "Is everything okay?"

Jon nodded, "Yes" He sat down then, and silence fell for a minute.

"I did miss you my son" His Father spoke.

Jon smiled then, for as confused as he was at what the Old Gods had given him, he couldn't deny, no matter what it meant, it was good to have them back, "As I did you, I often look to you for advice, in the crypt, or in my prayers" He added, not revealing it was rare for him to pray now, what god did he follow now? The Red God who'd returned him? Or the Old Gods who'd returned his family?

Or were they one in the same?

A question for the scholars ... a question one day for him.

"I'm glad I can now offer it in person" He said with a smile, "What can I help with?"

"Nothing specific" Jon said, and he knew he looked tired, older, whereas Lord Stark hadn't aged a day since leaving for Kings Landing, Jon knew he had lines of stress, he was a man not a boy, and the weight of the world hung heavy on his back now. "I'll be revealing to the Northmen tonight what has happened"

"How do you plan to explain it?" Eddard Stark shot back, all business now, Jon found it useful, it reminded him of discussing plans with Sansa, though perhaps a bit more serious.

"Magic" Jon said, "I… I should probably explain"

He did then, giving the non-condensed version of his story he had given before, in his solar. His Father didn't interrupt, just nodded, and gave the occasional 'hmm'. He was patient as Jon spoke of his journey, through his time at Castle Black, with the wildlings, the invasion of the Wall, Hardhome, his treaty with the freefolk, right up until the moment he had been killed.

"And the Lords of the North know this?" He asked, interrupting for the first time, with over forty minutes having passed.

"Aye" He nodded then, it had never been kept from the Northern Lords, the wildlings had spread the tale and Sansa had insisted it would only help him rule, as with many things she had been right.

"Good" Was all he offered and then motioned for Jon to carry on, which he did, finishing as he had prayed to the Weirwood, and the Stark family had returned.

"The Lords of the North will accept your explanation I think" He said with a nod, "I would make it clear it came from the Old Gods, you'll convince the most devout that way and others will follow"

Jon nodded, and he felt a real sense of warmth. To be able to talk strategy with his Father, it was something he'd wished many a time over the years he could do, being able to do so was truly a gift and a great help. It was more than sentimentality, Lord Stark knew his stuff.

They discussed Jon's plan to return the Castles Karhold to a member of the Karstark family (though Jon didn't quite specify who, for he hadn't completely disregarded Sansa's advice, Castle Karhold would be in Karstark hands ... in a sense). His Father agreed, it would create loyalty forever, the Karstarks would not revolt again when gifted something they had almost gambled away on the wrong side.

"I plan to give the Dreadfort to Robb" Jon said, he hadn't discussed it yet with Sansa, and he knew he'd need to get her okay (as he did with everything, not because he needed it, but wanted it, even if she disagreed, he would keep her informed, he owed her that respect).

"A fine decision" His Father said with a smile, and Jon smiled back, that warmth was present again.

"What about you Father? I could find you a holdfast?" Jon felt almost embarrassed to say that, as though he were giving something to the man who'd raised him, the man who perhaps deserved to be ruling where he was. It felt ridiculous, like he was giving it in pity, it wasn't his intention but it felt condescending.

But Lord Stark shrugged it off with a shake of his head, "My ruling days are behind me Jon, and I am glad to see them gone, I will stay here and help you if that is what you wish and allow"

Jon again felt even more embarrassed, and he was sure his cheeks were pink. He'd never envisioned a day his Father would ask permission of him for something, but he nodded all the same and felt the need to acknowledge just how much he would value Lord Starks presence here, "It would be my honour to make you my Master of War" It would, he was tempted to ask him to be his Hand, but Ser Davos had earned that post, and Jon relied too much on the man to dishonour him in that kind.

"It would be my honour to accept" They clasped hands then, and Jon felt a surge of pride in himself, and he hoped he had made his Father proud.

' _Let them say Eddard Stark has fathered four sons, not three'_

"There is something I do need to discuss with you Jon" His Father said, as they released one another. He noticed him glance over at Lady Catelyn, still slumbering before turning back to him then, his expression indecipherable. "But it can wait until after the announcement tonight"

Jon was puzzled then, "Can we not discuss it now?" He asked, for he felt oddly nervous, what was this?

But Lord Stark shook his head, "No, I think tonight is better, will you meet me in the crypt after the announcement and dinner?"

Jon nodded but couldn't help but press, "Yes of course but Father…"

"Please Jon, trust me" He asked, and Jon found himself nodding, he did trust his Father, implicitly, and so he nodded and let it go … for the moment. "And know how proud of you I am"

He knew his cheeks were red then, pride and embarrassment and happiness hitting him all at once, and he didn't hesitate as Lord Stark stood up and pulled him into a hug. He felt like a man as they slapped one another's backs, he felt like a King. He wore no crown and yet his head felt heavy as he stepped back and looked across at his Father, _as equals._

A knock on the door interrupted him and he saw Lady Catelyn stir, Rickon too as Sansa stepped inside, Robb following behind her.

"I thought we might discuss the announcement we're to make in a few hours" Sansa said, as she looked over at Jon. He offered her a nod and she one back, they had more to catch up on privately he knew.

It wasn't that he didn't trust their family, of course he did, but certain things needed to be kept in a small group, _quiet_ , and if he had to choose anyone to trust over others, it would be Sansa. And so, they gave one another a look before everyone sat down at the large table.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he gave her a tiny nod, like their own language almost, one that had come in use time and time again. It wasn't something they'd even developed, but something that had just come, a consequence of two people so in one another's confidence it just naturally happened.

"Jon has explained to me your plan" His Father interrupted, his expression one of … tension almost? Jon wasn't sure where that had come from, Robb looked the same he noticed, and Lady Catelyn openly hostile, which he found himself ignoring. "Jon could you elaborate for us all?"

Jon nodded then, gave Sansa another look, another nod and then he began to explain, oblivious to the tension and the look the three other Starks shared. He didn't notice and neither did Sansa, as they focused only on one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo thoughts?
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed! just a few bits:
> 
> \- nope, no one has guessed the big ole twist yet, but pls keep guessing, I love to hear your guesses!
> 
> \- pairing for this story? I think you can guess but not 100% yet, and this story will not be a fluff-fest, be warned.
> 
> do let me know your thoughts! I actually found Ned quite hard to write, but eh, he'll be a reasonably common pov, though jon will be the dominant, sansa 2nd, then others coming up behind.
> 
> anywho, subscribe for updates, and speak soon!


	5. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop woop, chapter 5
> 
> the response to this story has been awesome! keep the reviews/comments/guesses coming please!
> 
> hope you enjoy this chapter, slightly filler, but the next one is a big one!
> 
> songrecs: the archer - taylor swift

When individuals acted the same way for a long time it became normal. When people carried out tasks, performed duties, talked in a certain way, acted in a certain way, responded in the same kind it became ingrained, it became the _new_ normal.

He knew that from his brief tenor as King, he knew that from when he had been a boy, and then just barely a man. He knew people adapted, changed yes, but with those changes came the new behaviour and it often stuck, becoming the new way of things.

As he watched Jon explain the plan to reveal them to the people of Winterfell, Sansa chipping in; nodding her head, her eyes fixed on Jon, his mind was on that.

It should have been on what was to come, revealing such magic to the people of the North. It should have been filled with nerves, the prospect of facing the men and women he had let down. He should have been wrecked with guilt (and he was in a sense), he should have been focused on the imminent announcement and the risks that came with that.

He should have been, but he wasn't.

Instead he was focused on his siblings. On Jon, his brother (regardless of who his Mother was), and Sansa, his little sister (though she was hardly little anymore).

It was the new normal that had sprung between them. As before the Stark pack had fractured, Jon and Sansa had at best tolerated one another. _'Half brother'_ she called him, and Jon had brooded so often he had ignored the sister who wanted nothing to do with him. Siblings _barely_ , hardly even friends. There had been no overt animosity, just little affection, or regard.

And _oh_ , how that had changed almost as much as the siblings themselves. As when he looked at them, talking and presenting, he first considered how they'd changed as individuals.

He remembered that from battlefield tactics, break it down at the simplest level before becoming more complex.

And so, he started with Jon.

Jon had clearly changed. From a shy, brooding boy he had become a King. He wore the crown heavy, Robb could see that, and he had done the same. However, with a twist of bitterness Robb could see that Jon wore it better. He didn't even wear an actual crown! And that spoke volumes of him as a leader. He put his duty first, it was clear in the way he spoke, clear he put his duties and responsibilities above all else. The weight of the world looked as though it rested on Jon's shoulders.

He was strong, with some new scars. His accent harsher, and he had a weathered look in his eye, he had experienced even more than Robb had, and Robb felt a chill in his bones at that, that Jon who had gone to the Wall and had experienced so much he had come back a King.

Then he turned his gaze to Sansa.

Perhaps the change in his sister was even more profound. He could see Jon retained some of his old qualities, the brooding, the insecurities he hid much, _much_ better now, and the hint towards self-doubt, but with Sansa he could see little of the younger sister he remembered.

Sure, she looked similar, the red hair, the blue eyes so similar to his. She looked like his Mother, a Lady for all purposes. But that was where the similarities to the girl he'd known ended.

She still held her courtesies, but he could see she used them now as a weapon. In a way she charmed and made the servants feel validated, to the way she spoke now, neutral, and calm when discussing something so anxiety inducing. Her courtesies were her armour and he hated himself for allowing this to happen to her, as no doubt Kings Landing had caused it.

She was harder as well. He remembered her as a little girl, terrified of spiders, squealing, and running from the crypts when Jon had pretended to be a ghost, crying when she had a skinned knee. Now her face was impassive, the set of her shoulders determined, and as Jon spoke of what the Northern Lords had endured, she didn't flinch, she didn't turn away, she sat stoic as Jon recounted the horror of the Bolton's and why that had ensured the Northern Lords loyalty for years to come.

"Loyalty to you" His Mother spat out and he resisted the urge to scowl. He saw Jon and Sansa tense at that, and he knew that would be a problem, a _big_ one.

It also made him think of his next observation. Of how Jon and Sansa had changed as individuals, but also how they had changed in their relationship.

Once Sansa had scoffed at Jon, now she offered him a smile she had offered no one else. Once Jon had rolled his eyes at her, now he turned to get her opinion, to take her seriously, to nod as she interjected. Once they had ignored one another, now they sat close, bounced off one another, complimented one another.

He felt a hint of anxiety and concern when it reminded him of his Mother and Father, sat opposite.

They even looked similar! Jon had always taken after their Father the most (as had it pained his Mother), and Sansa took after their Mother in more ways than one. They looked a mirror image if one squinted, and the way they acted was similar.

But then it even went beyond. He was reminded of being in the solar, the way they'd spoken without words, as if it were their own language. A nod, a raised eyebrow, a frown, a shrug, their own way of communicating, there was an intimacy to that.

Robb glanced over at his Father and he knew then, at the tension in his Fathers shoulders that he could see the same. He could see the familiarity and behaviour between Jon and Sansa, that had never been there before. It also wasn't quite sibling affection, it was something else, a deeper understanding.

When Robb looked at them he didn't see a brother and sister conversing, he saw two leaders, ruling.

He saw Jon, the King, and he saw Sansa, for all intents and purposes, the Queen, stood by Jon's side.

' _The King in the North!'_

He remembered with a headache the moment he had been crowned. Had Jon experienced something similar? Had the Northern Lords shouted for him? He remembered when he had been crowned his Mother had stood by his side fearful, he wondered if Sansa had stood by Jon, and if she had, would she had been fearful?

He glanced at her again as Jon spoke, and he realised, no, she wouldn't have been scared, but proud, just as she looked now.

It was a good thing he didn't want to be King, because he knew as he looked at Jon, head heavy with the weight of the crown, that even if Jon stepped aside, Sansa wouldn't let him.

Again, he glanced at Father who was looking at him now, had noticed his staring, and Robb quickly dropped his gaze. Could Father sense it too? As he turned back to Jon and Sansa, he was sure he could.

"So" Jon spoke then, and Robb tried to focus, he knew what was to come was more important than his concerns about Jon and Sansa, and how much they had changed, and so he tried to pay attention. "That's the plan"

"We'll go first" Sansa said with a nod, and again he struggled to focus on her words, but instead noticed the way Jon turned to her, giving her the complete respect, enthralled in her words, "We'll explain and then when we call you can come in"

Can come in… Robb almost bristled.

He wasn't jealous, he _wasn't_ , he knew he could never be King, not again, not ever, he had failed the North in more ways than one, he knew that. But it was odd, to see Jon stood in that position, to be like a stranger in his own home. He wondered how he would feel when Jon sat in the head seat, where Father had once sat, where he had briefly and would be sitting.

Would he feel jealous or relieved?

As Sansa stood, encouraged them to rest and asked them to be at the hall by 6pm, he felt it would be a mixture of both. But still, he could barely focus on that, as he turned to watch Jon and Sansa leave, their heads bowed, conversing just the two of them, their hands brushing a hint as they made their way out of the door.

He turned back to his Father then who gave him a nod. Ahh, so it wasn't just him. His Mother had gone to Rickon, clearly her anger was blinding her to what was happening, but Father had seen.

Jon was not the Jon he knew, neither was Sansa, but that wasn't what worried him. No, as he thought back to their heads bowed, hands brushing, eyes wide, a nod of the head, he was, and he knew Father was worried. Just what was Jon and Sansa's relationship?

_Brother and sister?_

_Friends?_

_King and Queen?_

He didn't know, and that was most concerning of all.

* * *

She felt some nerves in her belly but quickly clamped down on those. There was no time for nerves, not now.

As she stood outside of the main hall (Jon brooding next to her, the rest of her family in the chamber next door), she reasoned with herself that there was no reason for her nerves. She was reasonably confident the Lords of the North would accept their explanation. They were devoted to her as the Eldest daughter of Eddard Stark, they loved the Lady of Winterfell who sewed soldiers clothes, ate broth in the courtyard with them and ruled fairly and justly. And even more so they were loyal to Jon, their King, the one who'd liberated them, risen from the dead, was their defender, their protector.

And so, no reason for her nerves.

And yet they persisted.

"Sansa" Jon shook her out of her own head then, something he was very good at doing. Sometimes she became too lost in her own thoughts, too preoccupied with her scheming and planning. Jon always bought her back to the world, back to Winterfell, and she offered him a soft smile as he held his arm out for her, to escort her into the main hall.

Like a King would a Queen.

She scolded herself a little then, she was no Queen, she hadn't been in Kings Landing, she wasn't here.

No matter how much she wanted.

' _I will remember, Your Grace. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me'_

Love her they did, but she was no Queen.

With a small smile on her features, a guarded smile, she took Jon's arm and they walked into the hall. The men and women, Lords and Ladies, wildlings, and Northmen, and some from the Vale all rose as they walked in. She sat first but they remained standing, only taking their seats when Jon did.

Their King.

"My Lords" Jon held up a hand before anyone could speak, the Northmen and wildlings were a rowdy bunch and they had both agreed it would be better to get this news out now, right at the start, to then debate, rather than to drop it and leave.

Jon glanced at her and she dipped her head, he looked a little nervous, she hoped the nerves weren't clear on her features, she hoped she looked impassive.

She glanced over at Lord Baelish then, who was stood against the wall, away from the Northmen, he raised an eyebrow at her, both concern and a little suspicion on his features, though it was barely noticeable, damn, so she had betrayed something.

She tried to smooth her features out, _like ice_ , as she looked to Jon, as he stood, as he spoke.

"Something has happened, a gift from the gods perhaps" He said, and then he glanced at her, and she nodded. Her strength was his strength, and his to hers. She missed the look Ser Davos gave them; she missed the smirk Tormund had. She was just focused on Jon.

"I was praying" Jon said, and the men nodded, religion was an odd thing in the North, no pomp and ceremony of the South, but a deep devotion to the Old Gods was part of the Northern way of life, it was in their blood, in their souls.

They were zealots in that regard, you didn't grow up in the North and not take the faith of the Old Gods.

She once had turned her back on them, and what a mistake that had been. The Old Gods were the only to look over her, even if they often didn't interfere.

' _Your Father doesn't believe in the gods?' She had asked the Queen, eyes wide, aghast._

' _He believes in them he just doesn't like them very much' She had rolled her eyes._

Perhaps that was where Sansa was. Did she like the gods? They had abandoned her in her time of need, but then she'd turned her back on them. Now they'd returned to help, she supposed she had to be indebted to them, _loyal_ , for what they'd returned.

' _I'm done with all of that' She'd said._

Perhaps she wasn't.

"And the Old Gods have decided to aid our fight" Jon said, as she snapped back to look at him, and then the mumbles started.

He looked at her again, and she nodded her head once more, as he did back. They'd agreed; words wouldn't be proof enough, and so Jon yelled.

"Come through"

For a moment there was silence, complete silence as in walked first her Father, then her Mother, then Robb, then Rickon, the direwolfs at heel. She registered then for the first time, the direwolfs remained the same size as they had been, Ghost dwarfed them now, more than he had even before.

Perhaps she focused on that, something small, easy, as the hall erupted.

Littlefinger spluttered, the Lords of the North spoke loudly, the wildlings were confused, Jon didn't even try to speak over the yelling, and yet Sansa reached over squeezed his hand, they needed to regain control, and now.

"My Lords!" Jon's voice boomed over the yelling, and silence fell again. It was odd, to go with the odd turn of events she supposed, silence, yelling, silence. She felt she might have whiplash, and she steadied herself as Jon spoke.

"This is a gift from the gods" He said, and she saw then, Jon knew exactly what to say, as the Lords seemed to calm, the wildlings nodded, the men of the Vale seemed skeptical but didn't say anything further. In fact, those who didn't believe what Jon had said were likely too shocked, but those who did, they seemed to immediately accept it.

Northern Faith, it made things much, much easier.

"Wine and ale" Sansa said, as the servants hurried into the hall, the surprise clear on their faces too, but not enough to deter them from their work.

Every individual in the hall seemed to slurp down at least two cups of drink, which she had anticipated, and thankful she'd planned. She knew for some a hard drink helped the process of news, and Jon smiled at her then, as their family took seats either side of them.

"How?" It was Lord Manderley that spoke first, and Jon nodded.

"I don't know" At least he was honest, but the Lords who'd accepted that their King had risen from the dead could more accept the _'I don't know'_ to how four more had risen.

She was suddenly thankful how many odd turns of events they'd experienced, it made even more strange news easily digestible.

"Why?" It was Lord Glover then.

"To aid our fight I'm sure" Jon said, but couldn't explain further than that, she knew Jon was wondering himself ' _why'_ , as did she, but they couldn't express any doubts, not now, not in the face of the men and women who trusted them.

That was something she'd learnt, never show doubt in front of subjects.

Would the next Queen know that?

"But you're still our King?" It was asked as a question, of course by little Lady Mormont, and as Jon seemed to pause, it was Sansa who spoke.

"Of course" She said, and she felt a sense of relief when the Northern Lords nodded and too looked relieved. "I am overjoyed to have my family back" She paused, smiled at them, for she was, truly, but that didn't change who her King was, nothing could do that. "But Jon is our King, no matter if Brandon the Builder himself emerges"

Laughter then and Jon smiled at her, she knew the right thing to say too.

Would the next Queen?

"Jon is my King" Her Father stood then, and she'd never felt more thankful for his honour, "He earned that place, I am just glad to assist by his side" Again she noticed her Mothers grimace.

But that was it then, the men nodded, any doubters settled. They all respected and trusted Lord Stark, and his word ensured no dissent, she doubted there would have been any, anyway, but it was good to have that clear.

"I will be putting together my war counsel this week" Jon said, and she was almost amazed at how quickly everyone settled, how quickly things were accepted and to move on.

More than once she'd felt a deep respect for the people of the North, but she'd never felt it stronger than that moment.

"I'll announce it at court this weeks end, but speak to individuals throughout this week. I'll also name some new Lordships" Jon said, and she noticed him glance at Robb, who smiled, and stood himself then.

"Jon is my King too" She felt a pang for Robb as he looked clearly guilty, "I'm sure he'll do better than I ever did" The right thing to say again, as some men smiled, some nodded, and the guilt in Robb's expression eased a touch, that matter put to bed too.

It couldn't have gone more perfectly. As food was served, as she took Jon's hand and smiled, as Littlefinger even excused himself (that was the imperfect part she knew), they'd jumped over one hurdle.

Only a thousand or so more to go.

She knew there'd be more questions, and many of the people of the North remained in shock, and would likely have stuff to ask once they recovered from it, but for now it was settled. She knew Jon as King was secure, and the explanation had been simple but believable – wasn't it the truth?

There would be questions and problems, but for now she breathed a sigh of relief, one problem managed, more to come yes, but one done.

Would the next Queen be able to manage more problems by Jon's side? She hoped not, she didn't want any Queen at Jon's side. He squeezed her hand again before releasing her to eat and she felt oddly cold. Which Queen would sit by his side and squeeze his hand next?

Why couldn't it be her?

* * *

The Wall loomed overhead, tall, like crystal, _ice_. It was powerful, a mark of strength, a mark of division, a mark of their past.

' _If the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out'_

' _This wall is made o' blood'_

' _We walk beneath one of the hinges of the world'_

"Bran?" Meera spoke, her voice gentle. She still grieved, he did not, grief was waning, grief was leaving him, so was everything else.

He could still feel some of himself, some element of Brandon Stark, but it was long fading. As the Three Eyed Crow had slipped from this realm, so was Brandon Stark.

He felt an urge to hold on, hold on to Brandon Stark, son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark, brother of Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Rickon, Prince of Winterfell. He felt the need to grasp, to hold onto that crippled boy, to not let go.

' _Every flight begins with a fall'_

' _You will never walk again, Bran, but you will fly'_

Would Brandon Stark fly? Or the Three Eyed Crow?

He was starting to wonder if they were the same thing.

"Bran" Meera spoke again, it was hard to pay attention, to get out of his own head but he nodded at her, he knew he needed to stay present, at least for the moment, at least for now.

"We're here" She said, and he nodded again, she seemed reassured he was responding, but he knew she was worried about him, knew she still hurt, still mourned.

He felt very little.

They had arrived at the Weirwood, in the shadow of the Wall, it was beautiful, red leaves vibrant against the snow, dripping sap making the face of the tree, the long strong branches. Strong, standing, powerful.

He wondered if the Others would harm it on their way past it, when they inevitably reached the Wall. Would they leave it unharmed? Or was there enough in them to want to destroy it? He didn't know, not yet.

He would.

For now though he had other things to find, other memories, other people. _Jon_. With a nod, he placed his hand to the Weirwood tree, the all-powerful conduit, his eyes rolled, and darkness came, before colour splashed back across his vision, the burnt gold of the sun, the yellow of the sand, the beige of the bricks of the tower.

The Tower of Joy.

Jon.

Soon he'd be home to tell the tale, as he finally managed to climb the tower steps, as he heard a babe's cry, saw a wet nurse with tears on her cheeks, blood, winter roses, Ice, ' _Lyanna'_.

Jon.

He'd need to tell the tale, and soon, the Others came, the Wall called, and Jon would need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo thoughts?
> 
> I know people will inevitably ask why the 'reveal' was so short - well, these northern ppl know jon rose from the dead, they know the others are coming, resurrection of other dead starks ain't as shocking as you'd think, and besides the fact it is so shocking makes sense for it to be short - more questions will come, and the next chapter is actually proving fun to write because there will be heavy northern lord/lady involvement, but for now they're processing and accepting. you believe in ice spiders, the dead rising ain't so shocking!
> 
> also, for people asking about pairings, who'd you like to see? tho I think you can guess the main one...
> 
> as always I do hope you enjoyed, the next chapter is proving beefy, and things will start picking up action wise soon, war comes after all! sub for updates, and please do let me know your thoughts!
> 
> speak soon


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